jbfrr15

TITLE: Taking the Hard Way Out
PART: 15/?
AUTHOR: Shelby (tonka_toy7@hotmail.com)
DISCLAIMER: In short, not mine. Joss/Fox/SandDollar/Mutant
Enemy/UPN own all.
DISTRIBUTION: Heat. Desire., MirrorofDarkness, and the sites of
the writers.
SPOILERS: Only if you haven't seen season 2 and even then, not
really.
RATING: Various, will go towards NC-17 at some point. This part
PG13.
NOTES: Thoughts will be shown like this: **thoughts**
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!

* * *

Buffy threw open the door to her guest room angrily. Spike
followed close behind, admiring the way her hips swayed in those
tight jeans she was wearing.

**Dru never walked like that. Slayer's even more arousing when
she's brassed off.**

Spike's eyes snapped up quickly to see Buffy's face right in
front of him, ranting about her duties. Lucky for him, she
didn't notice what the blonde vampire was gawking at.

**Whoa, that was a close one mate. Let her catch you looking at
her ass and you're in for a broken nose.**

"Chosen one. Blah blah. Meant to fight the forces of evil. I
mean broken record much? That's all I hear from him. So what if
the puzzle is mine? According to all his moldy old books, the
puzzles are always mine! I always lost the pieces when I was
little anyhow."

Spike continued to watch her pace back and forth, waving her
arms as she rattled on. **This is nearly as amusing as the
telly.** Spike dug in his pocket for his smokes and lit up. Out
of nowhere a glass ashtray appeared on an end table.

**Accommodating little spooks aren't they?**

Buffy disappeared into the bathroom to change. Spike flopped
down on the loveseat, arching his neck for a possible glimpse of
a naked Buffy.

"So you're what, tired of this whole slayer gig? Not that I
blame you. Who wants to play the goody two shoes all the time?"

Buffy came out of the bathroom wearing a pink tank top and gray
sweats. **He understands me. How is that possible? Evil Spike
understands good little Buffy. It must be the house.**

"Yeah, I guess that's sort of what I mean. But if I get tired of
it, innocent people die. I can't get tired of it." **It's my
duty, I know. My duty to kiss Spike. Why does he have to look so
sexy sitting there? Why would it be so wrong if we kissed? Bad
Buffy bad!**

Spike smirked. "All work and no play, makes for a very bitchy
slayer."

"I'm not bitchy." Buffy told him matter of factly.

"Are so."

"Are not! Spike!" Buffy wailed. "You are so not right! I happen
to play all the time."

Spike raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "When was the last
time you went -- oh, let's say -- dancing? Eh, Slayer?"

"Dancing? I uhm -- I went dancing just the other -- Oh shit.
You're right. I've been on patrol every night since forever."

**On patrol with quiet, broody Angel. There's a lovely bunch of
coconuts for ya.**

"Sure, on patrol with Peaches. I'm sure that's a hoot. C'mon,
luv, you need to relax."

Spike rose to saunter towards her. He took Buffy's hands in his
own and gave her a warm smile. Buffy smiled back, blushing
slightly.

**He's holding my hands. Be calm Buffy. Be calm. My cheeks are
on fire! How can I be calm?**

"Let's you and me do a spot of dancing pet. It'll make you feel
better, get your mind off all the parlor tricks and spooks." His
blue orbs danced merrily into her hazel ones. Spike caught a
glimpse of a woman, desperate for some fun.

As though it was always there, a phonograph appeared by the
door. Immediately it started pumping out a 19th century waltz.

Spike bowed graciously at his dance partner who was fighting not
to burst into giggles. "Oh, Spike, I can't do these dances," she
protested.

Spike shook his head no. "It's easy, luv. Just follow my lead."
Spike whirled Buffy around and around as the music played on.
Much to her surprise, her feet were her own, and Spike was a
marvelous dancer.

"You're actually good at this." **Who would have thought he
could dance?**

"Yea, but then I'm good at everything I do." He grinned. **She's
not so bad herself.**

Buffy laughed as Spike threw her into a dip when the song ended.
**OMG, he's going to drop me.**

Spike's eyes were sparkling with laughter. "I'm not going to
drop you, pet." Spike yanked her upright; Buffy smacked him in
the arm.

"Quit that!" Buffy demanded.

"Bloody hell! I didn't do anything to you!"

"Yes you did! You keep reading my thoughts."

Spike let out a sigh. "I did not. Drucilla is the one that does
that. It was the look in your eye that told me what you were
thinking."

"Oh. Uh, sorry?" Buffy's lower lip pouted sexily at Spike.

"See how you are, Slayer? I try to help you, and you hit me."
Spike ran a hand through his blonde locks, tousling them
slightly.

Buffy reached out for Spike's hands. "I'm sorry. I really was
having fun. You want to try again?"

Spike was hesitant to accept her invitation. **It's that lip. I
can't resist that lip of hers. Drucilla was right. I'm going
soft.** Spike let out a sigh and stuck out his hand. "Fine, I'll
dance with you, Slayer. Just lay off the arm, eh?"

As Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata begins to play, their simple
guestroom transformed into an elegant ballroom. Polished
hardwood floors met deep mahogany wainscotting, which gave way
to cream colored walls. The chandelier hung beautifully in the
center of the room, the crystal shining tiny rainbows all over
the room.

No words were spoken as they took each other hand in hand. It
was like a dream beyond imagination. They danced together
flawlessly: each step precise, each twist and turn bringing them
closer to each other. Moving in tune to the melody, their bodies
melded to each other slowly, sensually.

Buffy leaned her head on Spike's chest.

**He's not so bad. Evil vampire and all. Angel -- think about
Angel.** Nothing she could do would drown out the images they'd
seen in the dungeon. Just the way Angelus held that riding crop
in his hand gave her the chills. **Angel's different now. Quiet
and brooding. Spike is fun, sexy, and loving. Whoa -- sexy?**

**What am I doing? I can't tell her how much I fancy her. What
about Drusilla? C'mon now, Spike, get a grip. You can't like the
Slayer.**

Spike enclosed Buffy in his arms, holding her tightly to his
body as their feet glided around the dance floor. Time was
irrelevant for what seemed like hours as they danced, the music
playing over and over.

"Don't you do much dancing like this?"

"No, not like this. I don't have anyone to dance with." Spike
smiled. **Angel, mate, you've been mistreating your lady.**

"Doesn't Angel take you dancing?" he asked.

"No, we never really do anything fun. He just stares at me with
those sad eyes. It's kind of creepy sometimes." **I can't
believe I just told him that! But I think I can tell him
anything. He's listening to me, like he cares.**

Spike chuckled. "I'm sure he's just mezmerized by those pretty
little eyes of yours. Makes a man speechless."

"Spike, that's so not like you. What's --"

"It's the house. Making me all gentleman-like," he told her
quickly.

**What if she never sees me as anything but a killer?**

**I'm not ever going to stop dancing with him.**

Spike inhaled the scent of her hair; a satisfied smile crept
upon his lips. **I've got to tell her I like her.**

The music stated to fade; the lovely ballroom faded with it
until Buffy and Spike were left standing once again in their
guestroom. Spike gazed down at her hazel eyes.

"Music's over pet. We should stop dancing right?" Spike's arms
stayed firmly in place, his fingers locked together around her
waist.

"Well, we don't have to. Unless you want to. Buffy's arms clung
to the vampire, her fingers laced in the belt loops of his
jeans." **Please say yes, please say yes.**

"Oh sure, I mean if you want to keep dancing, I'll --" Spike's
eyes suddenly were wide with shock.

**Lips! Lips of Buffy.**

Story premise: Set mid-season 2, the Scoobies and the Scourge of
Europe find themselves scrambling to find out the meaning of a
mysterious prophecy before time runs out and disaster strikes.